Love Virtually (21 page)

Ten minutes later

Re:

EMMI YOU ARE NOT FREE FOR A LIFE TOGETHER WITH ME.

Thirty-five minutes later

Re:

Let's assume I was.

Forty-five minutes later

Subject: (no subject)

Leeeooo, can't you think of anything to say?

Three minutes later

Re:

Dear Emmi,

Let's assume that's just one assumption too many for me. Let's assume I can't assume that you're free, for the simple reason that you're not, nor will you be. If you “free yourself up” from your family for the evening—for my sake—then so much the better for me (and for you too, I hope). But that's very different from saying that you're free for me. Generally I'm pretty good at assuming assumptions. But with the best will in the world I can't assume this assumption, however alluring it may sound.

May I take this opportunity to ask you a question?—I know you don't like questions like this, but it's fairly relevant: What are you actually going to tell your husband about where you're going tonight?

Nine minutes later

Re:

Oh Leo, can't you give it a rest? I'll tell him I'm meeting up with a friend. He'll ask: Do I know him? I'll reply: I don't think so, I haven't told you much about him. Then I'll say: We've got lots to catch up on so I might be late getting home. He'll say: Have fun.

Twenty minutes later

Re:

And what if you don't get home until the small hours? What will he say then?

Three minutes later

Re:

Do you really think I might get home that late? This is a side to Leo I haven't come across before.

Eight minutes later

Re:

What does Emmi Rothner say? “Things that seem impossible beforehand often turn out to be possible after all.” In short, everything's possible. I'm beginning to believe that too.

Four minutes later

Re:

Wow, exciting! I like it when you talk like that. (Maybe because those are my words.) Only four hours to go, by the way. Would you like to know which of the three Emmis from the café you'll be opening the door to?

Three minutes later

Re:

No, don't tell me, Emmi! I really
don't
want to know. Let me make a suggestion. You're not allowed to laugh, I'm being serious. I'd like to leave the door ajar. You come in. You go into the first room on the left from the hallway. It's dark. I put my arms around you without seeing you. I kiss you blind. One kiss. Just a single kiss!

Fifty seconds later

Re:

And then I leave, or what?

Three minutes later

Re:

No, not at all! One kiss, and then we'll put the blinds up, then we'll see who we've kissed. Then I'll give you a glass of wine and we'll make a toast. And then we'll see what happens.

One minute later

Re:

Mine has to be a whisky, but apart from that I'm quite happy with your welcome ritual. Basically it's no different from your little blindfold number, just without the blindfold and therefore a bit more romantic. Sure, let's do it! Um, are we really going to? Isn't it a bit crazy?

Forty seconds later

Re:

Of course we're really going to do it.

Four minutes later

Re:

But it is risky, Leo. I have no idea whether I'll like the way you kiss. How
do
you kiss? Are you quite firm, or are you soft? Dry or wet? What are your teeth like, are they sharp or blunt? How intrusive and agile is your tongue? Does it feel like hard plastic or foam rubber? Do you keep your eyes open or close them when you kiss? (I suppose if you're blind-tasting it doesn't really matter.) What do you do with your hands? Will you hold me? Where will you hold me, and how firmly? Are you quite quiet, or do you breathe heavily and make noises with your mouth? So tell me, Leo: how do you kiss?

Three minutes later

Re:

I kiss like I write.

Fifty seconds later

Re:

That's incredibly big-headed of you, but it doesn't sound bad at all. Mind you, your writing can be extremely variable.

Forty-five seconds later

Re:

And my kissing can be extremely varied.

Four minutes later

Re:

So long as you promise to kiss me in the same way you've been writing to me yesterday and today, I'll risk it!

Thirty-five seconds later

Re:

Risk it then!

Twelve minutes later

Re:

And what if we want more after we've kissed?

Forty seconds later

Re:

Then we want more.

Fifty seconds later

Re:

And will we do more?

Thirty-five seconds later

Re:

I'm sure we'll know that when we come to it.

Two minutes later

Re:

I hope both of us will know, not just one of us.

Four minutes later

Re:

If one of us knows, the other will too. Only two hours to go, by the way. We should probably stop writing and get ready for our great leap into another dimension. I'm seriously excited, I have to say.

Eight minutes later

Re:

What should I wear?

One minute later

Re:

I'll leave that up to you.

Fifty-five seconds later

Re:

I'd rather let your fantasy decide.

Two minutes later

Re:

Please don't let my fantasy decide anything. It's running away with me a little just now. But I think you should wear
something
.

Three and a half minutes later

Re:

Should I wear something that might increase the probability of the blinds staying down for a while after we kiss, because neither of us has our hands free?

Forty seconds later

Re:

If you don't mind my being abrupt: YES!

A minute and a half later

Re:

A “YES” to a question that demands the answer “yes” could never be too abrupt for me. I'll go and “brush up” then, as they say. Unless my heart beats its way out of my rib cage, see you at your place in an hour and a half.

Three and a half minutes later

Re:

Press the intercom button marked “15.” When you're in the elevator, put in the code 142 and you'll be taken to the top floor. There's only one door up there. It'll be ajar. Then go into the room on the left, just follow the music.

Can't wait!

Fifty seconds later

Re:

And I can't wait either. Before we go kissing in the dark, I ought at least to tell you my age: I'm thirty-four, which is two years younger than you—sorry to point that out.

Two minutes later

Re:

I think I'll have to talk to you properly about “Boston,” Emmi. You've got completely the wrong idea about Boston, or about Boston and me. The whole Boston thing is quite different from how you imagine it. I need to explain that to you. There's so much to say! There's so much to understand. Do you understand?

A minute and a half later

Re:

Slow down, Leo. One thing at a time. Boston can wait. Explanations can wait. Understanding it all can wait. For now let's just kiss. See you soon, my love!

Forty-five seconds later

Re:

See you soon, my love!

CHAPTER TEN

The following evening

Subject: The north wind

Dear Leo,

I know, it's unforgivable. Your “silence” is evidence of that. You're not asking why. No, you haven't even asked me why. You're teaching me a lesson. No screaming fit, no attempt to save the situation, no paroxysms of grief. You're not doing anything. You're not saying anything. You let everything wash over you in silence. You don't even ask why. You're behaving as though you knew it all along. And now you're punishing me too. Well, you can't be half as disappointed as I am. Because my disappointment is compounded by my awareness of yours.

I'll tell you why I decided not to come at the very last minute—and I mean it, it really was the very last minute. It was all because of one letter, one single letter in a place where it shouldn't have been, and it came at the worst possible moment. Leo, do you remember you asked me: “What are you going to tell Bernhard?” And I replied, “I'll tell him I'm meeting up with a friend.” That's exactly what I said to him last evening. “He'll ask: Do I know him?”—he said just that. “I'll reply: I don't think so, I haven't told you much about him,”—and that was my answer. “Then I'll say: we've got lots to catch up on so I might be late getting home!” Those were my exact words. “And he'll say: Have fun,” And he did say that, Leo. But he added one word. He said: “Have fun, EMMI.” Just the usual “Have fun,” and then he paused. And then came the EMMI. A murmur, no more, and it froze me to the core. He always calls me “Emma,” nothing else. He hasn't called me “Emmi” for years. I can't even remember the last time he did.

The “i” instead of the “a,” Leo, that single letter in the wrong place sent shock waves through me. It was all wrong coming from him. It wasn't his to say. I felt like I'd been exposed, the illusion was shattered, it sounded so destructive. As if he could read my thoughts, as if he had seen straight through me. As if he wanted to say: “I know you want to be ‘Emmi,' you want to be ‘Emmi' all over again. Well, be ‘Emmi' then, and have a good time.” I should have said something quite horrible to him in response, I should have said: “Bernhard, I don't just WANT to be Emmi, I AM Emmi. But I'm not YOUR Emmi. I'm somebody else's. He's never set eyes on me, but he found me. He recognized who I am. He's brought me out of myself. I'm his Emmi. I'm Emmi for Leo. You don't believe me? Well, I can prove it. I have it all in writing.”

I went up to my room. I was going to send you an email, but I couldn't. All I could write was this miserable sentence: “My dear Leo, I can't come over tonight, it's all too much.” I stared at it for a few moments and then deleted it. I wasn't able to tell you I was going to let you down. It would have been like letting myself down. Something happened, Leo. My soul vanished from the screen. I think I love you. And Bernhard has sensed that. I feel cold. The north wind is blowing. Where can we go from here?

Ten seconds later

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